


To See Without My Eyes

by Maya (mayojo)



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Anxiety, Blind Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Love, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayojo/pseuds/Maya
Summary: Elio and Oliver return to Valencia, Spain where a tragic accident occurred over a year ago that would change their lives forever. Set in modern universe, Elio and Oliver are in their 20's and 30's. The two lovers face their emotions upon returning to the city and ultimately reinforce the strength of their bond. Inspired by the first words of "Mystery of Love" by Sufjan Stevens.





	1. Built your walls around me

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever, so I welcome any comments and gentle criticism with open arms. I am more of an academic writer, but I'm finding creative writing to be very cathartic. These characters have impacted me so deeply. It terrifies me to put my work out there for the world to see, but if I've learned anything from this story it's that it's worth it to take chances on the things that matter even if you get hurt in the process.
> 
> I want to give a special thank you to LaCompositora for the words of encouragement that finally gave me the gumption to get this story out of my head and into the world. I have been remarkably inspired by LaCompositora, mae428, and Goodnightluv with their wonderful contributions to this fandom. They are all way more talented writers than I will ever be, so go check out their work if you haven't already! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not blind, and I do not have anyone close to me who is blind, so I apologize in advance for any inaccurate portrayals of a blind person's experience. If I continue this fic then I will do more research in order to do my best to more accurately portray that experience. 
> 
> Thank you so much for stopping by to read my work. I means the world to me that you took the chance on my little story! Enjoy!

_Valencia, Spain: May 10, 2018_

  
"Oliv— I can't— where—"

"It's okay, baby. I'm right here."

My right arm immediately fans out two inches to the side before colliding with Oliver's hip. He quickly covers my hand with his own and reassures me with soft strokes of his thumb. Down. Left. Right. Up. Down. Left. Right. Up. Oliver always knows how to steady the rhythm of my erratic heart. His hand is a tent firmly staked into the ground, soft but sturdy against the salty pellets of the Mediterranean. I know that I will always be able to seek shelter under the protection of that tent. My tent. My Oliver.

My palms are already sweating profusely. Two salty pools collect just under the left pocket of Oliver's shorts. I turn my face toward the northern coast so Oliver won’t see the other salty pools that collect beneath my eyes. The sea stings more than skin deep. _Breathe, Elio. Prove you can do this. This is just another step._

"Maybe we should go back to the hotel. We should rest up before dinner with Celia and Olga," Oliver says with a quick peck to my temple. I nod toward the direction of the waves. Their constant ebb and flow beg a response. _I'll be back... later_. Oliver ceases his soft strokes and places my right hand on the back of his left arm. More than a year has passed since our commencement of this “new normal”, but I’m not sure if I will ever become accustomed to the complete surrender of following in another's footsteps.

We walk toward the bus stop in complete silence. Oliver's breathing is relaxed, but I can sense he is hesitating as to whether he should speak. I know he senses my anxiety. I can’t help my trembling fingers playing an entire concerto upon his arm. I have many doubts about this trip, and I’m sure Oliver is questioning our return to the place that will forever mark our lives with a _before_ and an _after_.

"Okay the bus is here," Oliver says. He takes a step up about a quarter meter off the ground. Oliver turns and grasps my forearm and cradles my back. "Step up, Elio. I’ve got you." I march onto the bus with messy footing. Oliver’s support prevents me from falling flat on my face. "It's okay, I'm right here," he assures. Oliver guides me to a pair of seats at the back of the bus. "Turn 180 and sit." I take Oliver's direction and slump sloppily into the seat. I nervously bounce my leg, and Oliver places his hand on my thigh. "Why don't you try and close your eyes for a bit. It will be a good 35 minutes until our stop," he says.

"My eyes are closed— quite permanently, actually," I sneer with a nervous laugh.

"I know, baby. I'm sorry; I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, I know. It's okay. Wake me up when we get there." I nuzzle under Oliver's chin, and he cards through my hair with steady strokes.

I never actually sleep but simply think a million thoughts with my eyelids closed. What am I trying to prove by coming here? I didn't fare too well the last time I stepped foot in this city. Everything was taken from me in a matter of one foul— _BANG_! I jolt back, and my head collides with Oliver's collarbone. _What is that? Another petardo coming to claim not only my eyes, but this time my life?!_ Maybe it’s just as well... death seems the preferred option at this point in my painful existence.

"Shh, it's okay. It was just a car that backfired. Come here, Elio."

No. It’s not a car that has backfired. I would know that sound anywhere. It’s most certainly a _petardo_. Those stupid weapons that children throw around like confetti during those horrid weeks in March. Las Fallas can go fuck itself. My eyes begin to burn and seep.

Are those tears or blood?

The pounding begins in my skull with the ferocity of a freight train. The first train car pierces through my eyes and exits through the back of my occipital lobe. My eyes are lightbulbs that shatter into a million pieces upon the unrelenting force that plows through my head. The vibration reaches a fever pitch, and my entire cranium is sure to explode any minute. _To speak or to die? My fate has been predetermined_. Just when I think the shrill of the train's scream will never cease— _silence_.

Either an eternity or half a second later, I am lying on my side in a bed my skin finds rough and unfamiliar. _Is this what death feels like? Lying in a bed as soft as sandpaper?_ I squirm as I come to.

"Where—"

"It's okay, Elio; I'm here. It's me, Oliver."

"What hap— hap—," I can barely breathe let alone articulate a complete thought.

"Shhh, baby. You had a panic attack and passed out on the bus. We're back in the hotel now. Don't worry. I called Celia and told her we wouldn't be joining them for dinner. Just rest now."

I try to form a coherent sentence but heave a sigh as I fail to speak. As soon as I feel Oliver run his finger tips up and down my back, I hum with a profound feeling of peace. I drift off for what I assume to be a couple hours. When I wake up, Oliver is still stroking my back, but has added my curls and the nape of my neck into his repertoire. I reach behind me and fumble until I find his hand. I squeeze tightly, as if my life depends on it.

"You know, Elio, we can go back home and cancel this trip. Celia and Olga will understand. I know they're our best friends, and we haven't seen them in forever, but perhaps they can visit us at the villa. Returning to Valencia is not easy for me, so it must be even more challenging for you. I have already witnessed the pain this city has caused you— caused us. And, I don't know if I can see that destruction happen again. I just—" Oliver chokes out a sob, and my heart shatters right there on that sandpaper bed.

"Elio," my name glides across my lips with the ease of a swan upon a tranquil pond. "I want to remember all that is good about this city. Can you describe what you saw today that left you breathless? I want to see the city for all its beauty and light, not for its cold darkness. Lord knows, I can see cold darkness anytime I want to." Oliver sighs and wraps me up in his arms. He cradles me like a baby, but I don’t mind. I feel safest within the strong arms of my Oliver.

A moment passes before he begins, "As we sat in the cab on the way to our hotel from the airport, I saw your perfectly messy curls draped over your face like a mop. I crave those curls like a drug. I want to build a home in the deep espresso whorls and live inside, never to leave. I saw the way your flawless skin glistened in the afternoon sun. Your pores so beautifully exposed, your freckles a dusting of cocoa powder upon a delicious crème brûlée. I saw—"

"Oliver," I chide, "you know that's not what I mean. I want to know what you saw besides me."

Oliver acquiesces to my demands with a deep sigh. "Well, I can't help that your beauty is what leaves me breathless. But okay. We stepped into the cab, and I saw a middle-aged man with a kind smile. He had a thick beard and donned round glasses. In comparison to the many crude cab drivers we've had in the past, I felt assured with this one; he exuded an air that reminded me of your father. His eyes were a deep mahogany brown. The sun burst through the windows of the cab with an unrelenting force that blinded m— uh. I mean it really blew me away how bright the sun was." Oliver holds his breath and marks a gentle kiss to my forehead as an apology for his faux pas. I can’t help but let a smile purse my lips. Oliver continues, "As the city came into view there was a haze among the buildings. It reminded me of some of the best days we spent in New York just lounging around until dinner during the dreariest months of the year. I couldn't help but smile as we passed by the “Mercadona” on Primat Reig. Remember last time we stocked up on Kinder Joy from there and stuffed ourselves until there was no room left for supper? You were as happy as a pig in a mud puddle." We both let out a chuckle at the image Oliver prompts. He brushes the curls off my face before continuing, "And then we passed by the university tennis courts. There was a tall, lanky man giving lessons to a group of young women. I giggled at the thought of you and Celia completely destroying Olga and me on those courts last year. You two were an unstoppable force that would not let up. Olga and I had no chance."

Oliver takes a beat. I can’t decipher if that is good or bad. I can never read Oliver as well as he can read me, but I hope he relishes in the joyous memories we've made with Celia and Olga. I’m not sure what we would do without our colleagues-turned-bestfriends. Oliver proceeds with hesitation, and I worry what words will leave his lips next.

"When the cab finally pulled up to the curb of Hotel Renasa, my breath caught in my throat. There was a tall man with long, dark, curly hair holding onto a toddler as she walked up the steps. The little one only grasped onto her dad's pinky finger; that was all she needed to stabilize herself and make it up the steps. The dad cooed at her and encouraged her, but never let her go. The little girl squealed when she reached the top, and she was soon scooped into the arms of her proud father. He exclaimed, "¡Lo hiciste! ¡Tomaste más pasos!' The man was grinning from ear to ear; he looked so incredibly proud."

We sit there in silence for a long while. Oliver's hands begin to tremble while I am still wrapped up tightly against his chest. He sniffles, and a single tear drop of Oliver's graces the corner of my eye.

"Thank you, Oliver. You are my eyes. I can see the light of the world through you— because of you— with you."

I nuzzle my face into Oliver's chest and hum quietly. Whatever step comes next, I can rest assured that the light of my eyes will illuminate the path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! Just a short story to test the waters. I might write a prequel to this so we get more background of what exactly happened leading up to and during the fateful event when Elio lost his sight. Let me know what you think about that in the comments! Or I might continue this story as is.. I'm not sure yet! Thank you for taking the time to read! 
> 
> Petardo: Firecracker  
> ¡Lo hiciste! ¡Tomaste más pasos! : You did it! You took more steps! 
> 
> Las Fallas is a festival that happens in Valencia every March. I find it hard to describe, but basically as it pertains to my story, one aspect of Las Fallas is that children throw firecrackers around like they're candy. It doesn't faze them since it's all they've ever known, but as a foreigner, I found them to be frightening while I was studying abroad in Valencia. Las Fallas is a wonderful celebration, though! The wiki for Las Fallas if you want more background: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Falles


	2. Is it a video?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well that was an emotional roller coaster... *sobs*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to keep this train moving forward but with flashbacks thrown in! For the sake of the setting, let's assume Elio speaks Spanish (castellano) in addition to English, French, and Italian. Thank you all for the support on the first chapter! Your kudos and comments mean so much to me! I will probably go back throughout the next couple of days and make minor edits for grammar errors and such, but I just couldn't wait to get this out into the world. Enjoy!

I awake with Oliver's grasp wrapped comfortably around my hips. A smile graces my lips, and I can finally exhale for the first time in days. Oliver is spooned up behind me as I lie on my left side. Tiny droplets slowly drip down the back of my neck spilling onto my shoulder. I am not surprised my anxiety has caused a fury of night sweats to ravish my body.

_Is it night or morning? What even is the concept of time?_

Fuck, it astounds me that my perception of time is still a mountain I am forced to summit each time my consciousness returns. I extend my right arm past the side of the bed hoping to meet the top of a nightstand— _merde_! My pointer finger jams against the corner of the nightstand with a staccato _thud_. My fingernail ignites into a flame that cannot be snuffed out; I feel the burn deep within my soul. _Oh well, if the nail dies at least I won't have to see it fall off_. I let out a devilish snicker. Light pats of my hand dot the wooden surface until I encounter a rectangular object. I pick up my iPhone, and my thumb immediately finds the home button. One push of the button and Daniel, whom I affectionately refer to as my assistant, tells me the time is 8:42. The phone slips from my weak grasp and crashes violently onto the unforgiving nightstand. _Cazzo! As if Oliver doesn’t have enough of my shit to put up with without abrupt disruptions to his peaceful slumber._

"Elio, are you okay?!" Oliver's voice is filled to the brim with concern.

I rotate toward the origin of his words and sigh, "Yeah, I'm sorry I— I didn't mean to wake you. I was just trying to check the time." Oliver traces my jawline with his thumb and trails light kisses from my forehead to my lips. He reaches around to stroke my back, and my skin immediately tenses beneath Oliver's touch.

"Baby, you're drenched with sweat," he says. Although I can’t see Oliver's eyes, I am sure they are full of pity and disgust.

"I hate when you look at me like that." My words slice through the air with a piercing shrill that frightens me; it frightens Oliver too. He immediately discards his hand from my back and places it on the bed. _There, I know you find me disgusting._

"Elio... what—"

"And I hate myself! I hate myself for doing this to you, for being a burden. I hate that I'm your helpless child who needs assistance with everything. It's been over a year, Oliver! I still get night sweats weekly. I haven't touched a piano in months since that last disastrous attempt. I can't go anywhere on my own. I haven't been able to look at you in forever. Why is that, you might ask? Oh yeah, because I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!" My hysteria explodes like a long overdue volcano. The boiling lava that pours out from my words threatens to destroy everything in its path. My breathing becomes hitched, and my throat swells with magma.

"Breathe, Elio. Please, just breathe for me then I'll get you cleaned up." Oliver's voice remains steady and clear. He reaches down to stroke my shoulders but I deny him with quick upward juts of my arms. "Please let me help you, Elio," Oliver sighs painfully.

"I don't need your help! I'm going to the bathroom," I snap. I swing my legs over the bed and pivot out of position, but lose my balance and crash into a heap on the floor. Oliver leaps across the bed and bends down to gather me in his arms. "No, Oliver! I told you I don't want your help! Just tell me where the bathroom is," I tremble.

"Elio, please..." Oliver's voice twinges with remorse.

"I'm gonna piss on myself if you don't tell me where the bathroom is," I scold.

"... take two steps straight ahead, reach out, feel the wall? Follow the wall to the right until you reach the corner. Turn left at the corner and the bathroom is on your left. The sink is first on the left, and the toilet is right after it. I remembered to put the seat back down."

I stumble along the wall until I reach the bathroom and slam the door shut. I feel along the counter until I reach the toilet. I pivot and slump into the seat. I hate it when Oliver knows what I need before I know I need it. He knows I will sit down to relieve myself since I still can’t aim worth shit in complete darkness. As the warmth leaves my body, my bubbling rage turns into an eruption of tears. I attempt to muffle my deep sobs against the crook of my arm, but it’s useless. I feel so alone in my void of darkness.

"Elio, I'm right here. Can I come in?" Oliver begs through the door.

I quickly wipe the tears and snot from my face. "No. I'm fine. I'll be out in a minute," I sniffle. My voice is so hoarse that I figure Oliver won’t hear me and will persist until I submit to his request. After a long beat, it is clear that Oliver has retreated to the bed.

_Please don't leave me, Oliver. I need you._

The heaving sobs return with a vengeance. My body goes limp, and my head starts to spin like a carousel. Is this what my life has become? Infinitely turning on an axis of anxiety and despair, but never truly going anywhere? Intense shrieks flood my brain with the ferocity of water plunging through a broken dam. Oliver? Is that you? No. It’s not Oliver whose deafening wails pierce my ears. The acute shrills that orbit my brain are much too high to be Oliver... Celia? Are you okay?... Celia!!! My mind is viciously sucked into a video vortex that plays March 19, 2017 on perpetual replay.

***

"Elio! Dios mío, Elio! Oh god, Oliver there's blood everywhere! Olga, call 112!! Oh my god!!! Elio!" Celia's desperate shrieks echo throughout the hollow apartment building with the violence and range of an exploded mine field.

"Celia, you have to breathe and calm down. Help me stop the bleeding. Do you have gauze or anything in your bathroom?" Oliver's words are steady and smooth, but I can feel his hands trembling beneath me as he rushes me into Celia and Olga's tiny bathroom.

Oliver clenches me tightly to his body. I weakly reach up and pat his shirt lightly. The viscous crimson liquid that gushes from my face floods down Oliver's collarbone and soaks his chest. I yelp as an unrelenting chain saw slices my cranium in half. The unforgiving blades decimate every inch of my face from my eyes to my lips. The weapon practically laughs at the bloody mess it makes of my features, scattering specks of facial tissue like pollen on a spring afternoon. Oliver attempts to lower me onto a towel that Celia has laid on the cool, tile floor. I whimper and cling to Oliver's shirt collar with the little strength that remains in my fingers.

"Shh, baby, it's gonna be okay. I'm right here, Elio. Just stay with me. Please— I need—," Oliver stutters with shaky breaths. He gently descends onto the floor with me wrapped in his arms and leans back against the wall. Although it is pitch black, I hear the frantic swipes of Celia's hands rummaging through the cupboard. _Geez Celia, no wonder you can't find what you're looking for.. it's really dark in here. Why don't you just turn on the light?_

"¡Puta mierda! ¿Dónde está? Oh, here! Oliver, the gauze!" Celia wails and hurries to my side. Just like a freshly branded cow, I scream from deep within my belly the moment I feel the mesh on my face. My cries are deafening, and my consciousness begins to fade.

"I'm so sorry, Elio. We're gonna take care of you. Please, just stay with me. Shhh. Please... Oliver. Oliver Oliver Oliver. Shhhh. I’ve got you." Oliver's words slow the pace of my howls just enough so that I can drift off to a field of trees far away...

"Vamos a alzarlo en tres... uno, dos, tres!" The voices are indistinguishable, but the surging pains are not so unfamiliar. I feel my body levitate as if the hand of God has reached down and plucked me from the bathroom floor. I panic the moment I lack Oliver's embrace. I wail and muster all the strength I have to reach through the thick air, hoping to collide with Oliver's chest.

"I'm here, baby, I'm here. Shhh. It's okay. We're gonna go to the hospital. It'll be okay. " Oliver reassures me with gentle strokes to the palm of my hand, but my shouting doesn’t cease.

"Maybe you should get in the gurney with him. I don't think he'll stop screaming if you don't," Celia suggests.

Oliver sides up next to me and laces our fingers together. He slowly massages my chest and stomach, but never lets our palms separate. We briskly float through the air on a fluffy, white cloud. _Where are we going, Oliver? Heaven?_

***

"It's okay, Elio. You can cry. Let it out. I'm here. I've got you," Oliver whispers.

My bones are trembling at a devastating pace. Suddenly, I feel a cool tile prickle my ass. _Why are we back in Celia and Olga's bathroom? I thought we were going to heaven?_

"Where—"

"We're in the hotel in Valencia. You passed out on the toilet and bonked your head. Shhh. Oliver, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." I force a smile through my chattering teeth at the sound of Oliver's name on his own lips. My heart begins to decelerate as Oliver rocks me steadily back and forth. _I am in heaven, after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I tested out the VoiceOver feature on my iPhone, and one of the English options for UK English was named Daniel, so of course that is the speaker Elio must have for his VoiceOver (I'm looking at you, mae428)!
> 
> I had more planned for this chapter, but knew I wouldn't be able to finish before going on holiday. So we'll have to save that for later! Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> ¡Puta mierda! ¿Dónde está? Fucking shit! Where is it?  
> Vamos a alzarlo en tres... uno, dos, tres! We're going to lift him on three... one, two, three!


	3. Drowned in living waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio and Oliver wine, dine, and dance their troubles away.
> 
> "We are transported in time to a world where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. A world where the homeless have houses, and the blind can see."

"Why don't we just relax and watch-slash-listen to a show before we meet with Celia and Olga?" Oliver scatters slow kisses across my banged up forehead. I don’t deserve him and his care, but I appreciate his attempts to distract me from the perils of my anxiety with a little "Netflix and chill", as the youth call it. Oliver's absence brushes over me like a ghost as he leaves the bed to grab his computer. My hand lunges at his thigh as soon as I feel the bed sink in next to me anew.

"Oliver... I'm sorry I keep having these panic attacks. I don't know why— I— I feel so out of control and—" my tears threaten to spill along with the rhythm of my cascading words. Oliver soothes both my eyelids with gentle kisses. He pulls me tighter into his embrace so that my face is buried deep in his chest. Hundreds of chest hairs prickle my nose as I inhale his scent. Oliver's long strokes through my curls coax the tears out of my skull and onto his supple skin.

"Honey, you don't need to apologize for something you can't control. Let's watch White Collar. There are audio descriptions starting with season five," Oliver states.

I heave a sigh into the folds of Oliver's skin. "Well, I'll never say no to Matt Bomer," I smirk. Oliver kisses the top of my head and clicks away at his computer until the first episode of season five begins to play.

"It's a shame Peter got framed. I'm sure Neal will find a way to get him out of jail though. If only I could be so lucky," I say. My words cast a shadow that shroud the entire room in a dark, deep haze.

"Elio..." Oliver sighs as he runs his hands up and down my exposed back. He is never one to entertain my dark dramatics. I shrug and continue to listen to the exchange between Peter and his visitors.

PETER: There's so much I might miss...

_Peter creases his brow. Later, he and Elizabeth hold hands across the table._

I am pleasantly surprised that the voice of the audio descriptions isn’t as annoying as I antipate it being.

ELIZABETH: Hi, hon.

PETER: Hi, hon... I hate for you to see me like this.

ELIZABETH: What I see is a man who's gonna come back even stronger.

_She presses her lips together._

You're gonna beat this, Peter Burke. You're gonna come home to me.

PETER: I will. I promise.

The refresh button that governs my tear ducts begins anew on an infinite loop. I pitch forward as I fail to muffle my sobs against the crook of Oliver's neck. He massages the back of my scalp in an attempt to sooth my ragged breaths.

"You— you d-d-don't deserve this, Oliver," I quiver.

"Oh, baby... neither do you." Oliver sighs as he continues to stroke my entire body. My trembling decelerates, and I begin to regain control over my lungs just as I fall into a deep sleep.

 

I awake to multiple kisses striping vertical lines down my torso. I shudder as Oliver's chin brushes against my cock. I must not have drifted off for too long; White Collar still resonates in the background.

"Sorry, I know it's been a rough couple of days. We don't have to—"

"Please," I cut Oliver's words short with a swift hand through his hair, "I need you, want you, now more than ever." My words slur together as Oliver begins stroking my inner thigh and continues to dot kisses over my entire body. Too many weeks have passed since the last time we’ve had sex that my body almost doesn’t know what to do with itself. Each sensation Oliver delivers sends electric surges all the way down to my toes. The divine indulgence of Oliver’s breath on my skin makes me shiver with satisfaction. He opens me up with sure, steady strokes of his finger, almost instantly adding a second. I let out a deep, guttural moan at the intense stretch that satiates my craving for Oliver, for all of him.

“That feel good, baby?” Oliver pants.

Overstimulated and profusely leaking precum, I barely breathe out a response. “Oliver, I’m not gonna last—“

I fail to finish my sentence before Oliver pushes so deep inside me that I can practically feel him in my throat. God, if he pushes up any further, he’ll be in my eye sockets _. To give me yourself is to give me your sight. Cure me, Oliver. Make me see._ In a matter of seconds I come harder than ever before. Oliver follows only moments later. His warm come fills me to the brim, leaving me full and satisfied.

“You okay?” Oliver asks.

“Me okay,” I say.

“I’ve missed this— missed you.” Oliver takes my face in his palms and kisses me hard. He kisses me as if his lips can solve all the world’s problems; well, they can certainly solve all _my_ world’s problems.

“This feels like coming home. You are my homecoming, Oliver.” I smile and weave my fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging ever so gently. Even though I can’t see his lips, I know they reflect the smile plastered across mine.

 

We arrive at Celia and Olga’s apartment complex a little after 19:00. It is the first time we have returned since my accident, and I have to stop multiple times on our way to their building to get my breathing under control. I clench Oliver’s arm with the ferocity of a child whose white knuckles grip the safety bar on a terrifying roller coaster. Once we enter the elevator, I turn and pitch forward into Oliver’s chest. He wraps his wingspan around my back and soothingly rubs the base of my scalp. My breaths are as shallow as a fish that has been out of water for one too many minutes. I begin to feel lightheaded and weak; Oliver seems to sense this change, and he stops his movements to simply hold me tightly against him.

“You’re okay, baby. Deep breath. Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei. Good. Hold that in. Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette. And exhale. Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque, sei, sette, otto.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” I gasp. He always knows how to calm my anxiety down from a category five hurricane to a babbling brook. I receive a quick peck on the forehead before the elevator door swings open and we step out onto the floor. I take another deep breath and nod for Oliver to knock on Celia and Olga’s door.

“Elio! Oliver! Oh, we’ve missed you so much!” Olga wraps us both into her welcoming embrace.

“Hola, Olga! We’ve missed you too!” Oliver and I respond in unison.

“Dónde está Celia?” I ask.

“I’m here, I’m here! It just takes me a little longer to waddle everywhere nowadays. Come here, cariño.” Celia’s warmth is something I never grow tired of, she reminds me so much of my mother. Our hug takes on a different form than the last time we’ve met. I feel a little jut to my abdomen and can’t help the chuckle that escapes my lips.

“Celia, I think the baby just kicked me,” I laugh.

“Oh yeah, it’s been _demasiado_ active lately. Keeps me up in the wee hours of the morning, but only a few more weeks until it’s all worth it.” Her tone of voice tells me she is exasperated and sleep deprived.

Last fall, Celia and Olga moved back to Spain permanently after Celia became pregnant. Prior to that, they would rent out their apartment here, only visiting during university vacations. We miss having them in Italy. We miss having them teach at the same university as us, but we know it’s important for them to be closer to family as they start their journey as new mommies.

“Well, please, come in! Do you want to se— take a tour of the baby’s nursery? We just put the finishing touches on it.” Celia brushes my curls and kisses me on the cheek as she removes my hand from the back of Oliver’s arm and places it on her own.

“I’d love to see the baby’s nursery,” I smirk. Celia doesn’t say anything but simply pats my hand that’s attached to her arm. Oliver and Olga’s footsteps trail behind us.

I don’t even have to tell Celia that she needs to describe everything in detail, she already knows, “Okay, when you walk in the crib is directly in front of you along the wall. It is dark grey and has light grey bedding.” Celia guides me through the room by placing my hand on the furniture. My fingers glide across the smooth, sturdy railing of the crib. I even dare to dip my palm inside to experience the cloud that is their baby’s mattress. My fingers tingle at the sensation of cottony softness.

Celia continues, “To the right of the crib is the changing table which is also dark grey. All the supplies are underneath the table on the shelves. There is a little rectangular window above the changing table. To the right of the changing table is a big, cream-colored rocking chair.” I move to sit down in the chair and almost lose my balance, but Oliver’s strong hands and Celia’s soft hands brace my descent into the plush cushion. My emotions begin to bubble up to the surface. This is all too much to take. This is too perfect. I will never be able to give Oliver this perfection. _Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Oliver. You deserve someone who can give you this._ I nervously rub my hands up and down the arms of the chair, somehow hoping to wipe away my apprehension with each brush of fabric. Much to my dismay, I am not comforted by my actions in the slightest. Oliver places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I remember the breathing technique from earlier and repeat this exercise at my own volition. The train of my thoughts reduces just enough speed so that I can muster out a coherent thought.

“Please, Celia. Go on.”

“It’s okay, Elio. We can end the tour there. We should leave to go to dinner soon,” Celia replies.

“Please, I want to see more. Show me the rest.” My tone is more firm than I anticipate.

Celia finishes the tour by describing the huge bookshelf along the wall to the right of the chair. While I am still seated in the chair, she grabs something off the shelf and places it in my hands. The rectangular object is cool to the touch, metallic along the edge, and glass in the center.

“What is this a picture of?” I ask.

“This is the picture we took at the Board of Trustees dinner when Oliver and Olga won their research awards. It’s one of our favorite pictures, and one of our favorite memories, so it just had to be in the baby’s room. The baby is going to _love_ Uncle Elio and Uncle Oliver.” Celia reassuringly strokes my arm and tries to remove the picture from my grasp, but I keep a firm grip on the frame.

“Sorry, is it okay if I hang onto it a moment longer? I just need a minute.”

“Of course, cariño,” Celia says, “Olga and I will go finish getting ready. You two just take your time and let us know when you’re ready. Dinner is on us tonight.” She kisses the top of my head and patters out of the room.

I feel Oliver’s presence beside me as he tucks his head under my chin and places his grasp over my hands that desperately clutch the picture frame. I whimper as a dog does when it’s been abandoned and let the tears slide down my cheeks. Within seconds, Oliver is kissing my tears the moment they escape their dark dungeons to meet the unforgiving light of day.

“Oh, Oliver, I wish I could give you all this— but I—I can’t.” The flood gates have been opened, and there is no stopping the unrelenting force of liquid that gushes from my eyes.

“Shhhh. It’s okay, Elio. We won’t have _this_ exactly, but we’ll have our own version of it. Celia and Olga found a way to have children, and we can do the same.” Oliver’s thumb comforts my tremors with soft strokes to the inside of my wrist.

“But if we have a child, then you’ll have _two_ children to look after. I won’t be able to carry as much of the parenting responsibility because of my— my— _disability_ ,” the word stings as it exits my lips, and I turn away from Oliver, “so then you’ll have to take care of me and the baby, and you’ll grow to resent me and the baby, and then I’ll feel so fucking guilty, and the poor child will have unhappy parents and an unhappy home, and nothing will be perfect like you deserve, and everything will fall apart, and it will all be my fault, and I will have ruined your chance at a perfect life with a perfect husband and perfect kids, so you might as well just discard me on the side of the road now. Leave me to fend for myself. Don’t worry, I’ll be okay if you let me go. Just go. Go, Oliver! Leave! Just go! Please, leave me now before it’s too late! Before I ruin your life!”

My hysterical outburst can’t be tamed anymore than Mother Nature herself. My bones are tectonic plates that shift abruptly and disrupt everything on the surface. My skin trembles like the walls of a house that come crashing down from the devastating force of a terrible earthquake. Everything inside my house shatters. Everything that makes a house a home is no longer in existence. There is nothing left to my home but the rubble and memories of moments that will never happen.

“Elio, please listen to me,” Oliver grasps my face firmly in his palms and wipes at my ruddy cheeks, “please, baby, you need to know that I don’t want a perfect life. I don’t want anything that’s perfect. Nothing that matters in life is easy and perfect. I want you; I’ve always wanted you. I chose you; and I continue to choose you every second of every day. I want you and our future children, and I’ll choose that imperfect mess over any other life for as long as I live. Elio, baby, you have to know that I’m not going anywhere. Do you understand that?”

I can only barely nod my head in response.

“Words, Elio. I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” I gulp, “I know you’re not going anywhere… I know. I’m sorry.”

“Good. You don’t need to be sorry you just need to talk to me, okay? I know this isn’t going to be easy, but we can get through anything as long as we’re together and communicate. D’accordo?”

“D’accordo,” I sigh, unable to articule into words my gratitude for Oliver’s devotion. He wraps me in his gentle embrace, and we remain that way until it’s time to leave for dinner.

 

The bus ride into _el centro_ is uneventful, thankfully. We make light chit-chat with Celia and Olga as we approach the restaurant. Luckily, it’s not too crowded considering dining at eight is a bit early for Spaniards. I heave a sigh of relief at the lack of bodies whirring around me.

“Where are we eating?” I ask. There is no doubt that my tastebuds have remained intact despite the rest of the trauma.

“San Tommaso,” Olga replies, “your favorite.” San Tommaso is the best Italian food outside of Italy, I always remark each time we are in Valencia.

We option for a table outside in the alley so that we have more space to breathe. The fare is delicious per usual, and the company is even better. Olga orders _Agua de Valencia_ for all of us (except Celia, of course), and I am pleasantly tipsy by the end of dinner. Although it feels good to let loose a little, I still worry about the ease at which I lose my balance while inebriated and blind. I cling to Oliver’s arm a bit tighter at the thought, although I remain firmly planted in my seat. The cool breeze sends shivers down my spine and goosebumps up my forearms.

“Here, baby.” Oliver wraps his jacket around my shoulders and rubs my arms to warm me up. I tuck my head under his chin as a _thank you._

The sweet melody of a guitar reverberates through the alley. I recognize the song immediately— it’s _our_ _song_. I have to laugh whenever the musicians miss half the words trying to sing American tunes. However, I do give them credit for trying.

“Oh, this is your song! You must dance!” Celia and Olga sing in unison.

Oliver stands up and drags my arm, “Yeah, come on, baby. We gotta! This is our song!”

I pull my arm back in hesitation, “Oliver, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know how bad my balance is,” my voice trails off. I hate dissapointing Oliver more than anything in this world.

“Come on, Elly Belly! I’m gonna be holding on to you the whole time. I won’t let you go. You’re not gonna fall.”

I acquiesce with a sigh, and Oliver leads me away from the table. He braces my waist with both hands, and I wrap my arms around the back of his neck. I nuzzle my face against his chest and let a smile slip from my lips. The whole world seems to stop. Everything melts away, and it’s only Oliver and me on this tiny speck of a universe. Only us and the music.

_When I look into your eyes_  
_It’s like watching the night sky_  
_Or a beautiful sunrise_  
_Well, there’s so much they hold_

We are transported in time to a world where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. A world where the homeless have houses, and the blind can see. One look into your lover’s eyes and all the hopes, dreams, disappointments, and triumphs of a life well-lived are played out in front you. All the colors blend imperfectly against the backdrop to turn a blank canvas into a stunning masterpiece.

_Well I won’t give up on us_  
_Even if the skies get rough_  
_I’m giving you all my love_  
_I’m still looking up_

Oliver rocks me gently back and forth in time with the music. The song speaks for us when our own voices catch in our throats. It is both a declaration of the present, and a promise for the future. We won’t give up on us, won’t stop looking up, and we’ll never, _ever_ , stop loving one another.

_And in the end, you’re still my friend at least we did intend_  
_For us to work we didn’t break, we didn’t burn_  
_We had to learn how to bend without the world caving in_  
_I had to learn what I’ve got, and what I’m not, and who I am_

We sway to the music for what seems like an eternity. In our own world, nothing can break us. Oliver’s sweet lips brush against my ear, and he hums with contentment. I swipe my hand through his hair and pull him in for a kiss.

“I love this, Oliver,” my whisper is barely audible, but Oliver draws me in closer in response. Our thighs brush, and shivers bolt down my spine.

“Everything?” he asks.

“Us.” I smile and continue to sway my hips against Oliver’s.

_Please, let us go on like this for forever. I’m asking for very little, and I swear I’ll ask for nothing more. To dance our troubles away, Oliver, for the rest of our days, that would be enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the insane delay in updating. Thank you to those who have stuck around. And to new readers— welcome!! Thank you all for the love on the first two chapters, it means a lot to me. Let me know what you'd like to see these two get up to! Bonus points for anyone who can say which two Broadway musicals I reference in the last paragraph. 
> 
> Elio and Oliver's song: "I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz
> 
> #notsponsored, but San Tommaso is a real restaurant in Valencia that has amazing food and drinks! You should check it out if you're ever there!
> 
> Agua de Valencia is an alcoholic beverage specific to Valencia. It includes orange juice, cava (champagne), vodka, and gin.


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